


Once Upon a December

by SegaBarrett



Category: Nußknacker und Mausekönig | Nutcracker and the Mouse King - E. T. A. Hoffmann, The Beatles (Band)
Genre: 1980, F/M, Fantasy, Future Fic, M/M, Nutcracker Fusion, character death is implied
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-04-16
Updated: 2019-04-16
Packaged: 2020-01-14 20:38:11
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Major Character Death
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,969
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/18483922
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/SegaBarrett/pseuds/SegaBarrett
Summary: John finds himself on a fantastic adventure on a December day.





	Once Upon a December

**Author's Note:**

> Disclaimer: I don't own John Lennon or the Nutcracker or anybody but myself.
> 
> A/N: References all over the place. See below for a few of them.

“Sean, do you know the story of the Nutcracker?” John asked, looking over at his son toddling beside him along 72nd Street. Sean shook his head, and John’s step picked up, a little giddily. “Well, it’s the tale of a little girl named Clara, and her godfather gives her a nutcracker for Christmas…”

They had arrived at the Dakota, and John sighed.

“Well, I guess I’ll need to tell you the rest tonight.”

“I want to hear it now.”

“Yes, but…” John sighed. “We need to go to work. But… tonight. I’ll make sure that I tell you right.”

When Sean had been set up in the apartment with his sitter, John and Yoko made their way back to the limo, signing a few autographs along the way.

He had opened the door to the limo when he heard a tiny voice calling, “John!”

John turned to find a little girl, maybe five or six, with dark skin, her hair tied in one big braid, attempting to reach him to tap him on the shoulder.

“That’s rude, Clara,” a woman cautioned, coming up right behind her, “You can’t call someone by their first name if you don’t know them, and you can’t…”

John smiled.

“It’s fine. Did you want a picture?” He crouched down slightly.

“I got _Walls and Bridges_ ,” she spoke up, holding it up. He chuckled, grabbing a pen to sign it. 

“It’s nice to meet you, Clara.”

Her arm brushed against his and he could have sworn he heard her whisper, “I wish…”

“What was that?”

“Oh, nothing,” she replied. “Bye, John.”

She rushed off and he shrugged, climbing back into the limo. 

***

“I need more coffee,” John declared, walking over to the pot and discovering that it was empty. “Yoko, are there more coffee grounds in the…” He realized halfway through that Yoko would tell him, rightfully so, to go check for himself, and he made his way over to the cabinet. He opened it and came up short, defeatedly walking back to the mixing board.  
Suddenly, he heard the odd sound of rustling right by his feet and looked down, to find a mouse that seemed oddly larger and more motivated than a mouse ought to be. It appeared to be looking for something, his whiskers darting back and forth.

John reached forward to try to switch the record button on, not sure what he could use weird mouse sounds for but figuring there could be a purpose.

The mouse looked right at him before scurrying over to where he had left the master tape for Walking on Thin Ice, the song he had been working on for the past three hours. The mouse picked up the tape with its mouth and began to drag it.

“Hey!” John yelled, “Put that down!”

The mouse, and tape besides, began making their way steadily towards the door of the studio.

“Yoko, there’s a mouse…” But he found that Yoko must have stepped into the other room. Maybe she had found the coffee.

He began to run after the mouse. That was the only thing that would work in this situation.

He must have shut his eyes because, in a flash, he wasn’t in the studio anymore.

***

John was in the middle of a field, surrounded by mice. The offending mouse, still carrying his mix tape, scurried along ahead and was joined by the largest mouse that John had ever seen in his life. It was at least the size of Martha.

“Okay, listen, give me back my tape, and I won’t send Salt and Pepper after you!” John declared, looking around for something to defend himself from the rodent onslaught. The first thing he saw was a huge candy cane – okay, fair enough, he figured.

“We’re not interested,” the huge mouse declared. “We want all of what you have – that includes the music, too.”

“What are a bunch of mice going to do with my new song?”

The huge mouse advanced, pulling a sword out of seeming thin air. 

“We’re going to have a hit!” the mouse declared. “It’s about time!”

“Well, I mean, there was the Rat Pack. But other than that… you’re right, there isn’t a whole lot of… rodent presence in music. But this is me and Yoko’s song. You kind of have to get your own.”

John spun around, locking his candy cane with the mouse’s sword.

“I’m going to need my tape back,” he said firmly. 

His heart was beating out of his chest. 

The mouse knocked him backwards and held a sword at his throat.

John yelped, put his hands up, and then heard a “thump” followed by the mouse falling over on his side, knocked out.

The sound of feet running off in the distance, their owner unseen. 

“Wait!” John exclaimed, and began to run off in the direction of the sound. 

A huge bird with red wings leapt from the sky and sat in front of him. It tilted its head back into a song of mourning.

John looked up into its eyes – they looked so sad, and so familiar.

_Stu._

That was an odd thought; where had that come from?

Another swooped down beside him. A long, tussled feather at the top of his head, he looked…

_Mal._

There was a heat coming from them, sweat forming on John’s brow, like he was in the middle of a sauna. 

Who else was here? There were too many of them, feathers beating around his head, flapping, dancing.

And just as soon as they had come, they had gone.

***

He found the discarded tape lying on the ground and picked it up, placing it inside his jacket, and then he began to walk; that seemed to be the only thing to do. 

“You saved us,” a voice said, a voice very familiar

“You did. You are the hero of our land.”

Another. One of those voices that John heard, sometimes, within his soul, stirring and aching but not for years and years.

There was a woman standing before him, tall and thin with auburn, curly hair, and at her side a man with impeccably groomed hair and soft eyes.

“Eppy,” he whispered quietly, and then, more tentatively, “Julia… Mother.”

She smiled. 

“John.”

She was dressed in a pink tutu that flared out at the edges, and Brian was dressed in some sort of odd waistcoat that would have made him look like a complete prat if he didn’t look so majestic and if John weren’t so bowled over to see him again.

There were tears streaming down his face before he even felt them welling. 

“John,” Julia declared, wrapping her arms around him. He felt Brian’s hands around him too, warm and comforting.

“What are you doing here?” John asked. “What… am I doing here?”

“You’re here to be our hero,” Julia declared.

“You defeated the mice who ravaged our kingdom,” Brian agreed, throwing a medal around his neck.

“I really didn’t, though, I was just…”

“Don’t send this one back, okay?” Brian cut off with a smile, running his fingers over the medal. “You look… well.”

“You look the same,” John replied, burying his head against Brian’s chest. “Except this outfit… what are you?”

“The Sugar Plum Fairy and her cavalier,” Julia said, touching Brian on the shoulder.

“How does that work, considering…?” John asked. Julia and Brian shrugged.

“The rules seem to be a little different here,” Brian said with a smile. “It’s so good to see you, John.” Brian touched the soft, wavy hair with a wistful look. “You seem happy, now.”

“I am… But… I missed you. Both of you. Brian, I should have…”

Music began to play, quietly at first, then rising, an unseen orchestra. John wasn’t able to finish what he was going to say. 

“Sit with us,” Julia said, “They’re going to do a show for us. In your honor.” 

She pulled up a chair, and John found himself sat down. He would normally question this more, but what was the point? He seemed to be inside a dream, maybe one inside another dream. 

He found the oddest things in dreams, sometimes.

“First of all… hot chocolate.” 

They came out dancing, spinning. His eyes darted around, a little dizzy. 

“And tea…” Julia announced. Followed by candy canes, coffee, gingerbread, every sweet that John could think of, all alive and dancing (what would George think of this, he wondered). It didn’t feel like a dream anymore.

“And flowers,” Brian said, finally. He stood up and bowed, low to the ground. He had changed, somewhere along the line, to a black jacket decorated in rhinestones. “John… May I have this dance?”

John rose and took Brian’s hands in his. It felt freeing, like gliding on ice. 

“Brian,” he whispered. “I’m sorry.” He took Brian’s hand and held it against his own chest. He felt warm. 

“There’s no need to be,” Brian replied. They were waltzing. John spun Brian around and dipped him, caught him in his arms. 

The dance was at an end.

“It’s time,” Julia cut in, beginning to glide across the ground. She leapt in air, spun, was caught. 

She was, at last, not quite out of reach. 

John stood, watching and smiling. He couldn’t look away. He leaned against a wall, his fingers brushing against it. Rock, but warm.

Brian walked over to him and squeezed his hand, gently, before trotting off. Julia followed him, smiling back at John for a brief moment before gliding off, disappearing again. 

But, it seemed, only briefly. 

John stepped forward, ready to follow, but torn. Yoko was waiting for him, back home. The song. They needed to finish mixing the song. He began to walk.

“Mr. Lennon?” 

John felt a little dizzy, suddenly. He shook his head to clear it. 

_Somebody called my name..._

“Mr. Lennon?” 

_As it started to rain..._

He turned his head to see the little girl from before, her eyes lit up with glee. Clara, her name had been. 

“Mr. Lennon, it’s snowing!” 

He peeked out in front of him and it was. He reached his hand out and let the flakes touch it - soft, pure white... the whole world was foam and marshmallow. 

“It’s beautiful,” he declared. 

And it was. 

***

**Epilogue**

“Uncle Sean, Uncle Sean!”

Sean reached under the pillow, fumbling for the remote. 

“...gathered at Strawberry Fields in Central Park today to commemorate...” 

He found the “off” button and hit it. 

“Yes, Little Cynthia?” he asked with a smile. 

“Did you leave this present for me?” Cynthia, five years old with white blonde hair and brown eyes, extended her hands to show a gift box with a tag on it. “It doesn’t say a name.” 

“No, wasn’t me.” 

“Well, it wasn’t mom or dad or Aunt Kyoko either,” Cynthia continued. “So can I open it? If they didn’t want me to open it early they should have waited til Christmas.” 

“Sure. Let’s open it.” Sean patted the space on the couch next to him and Cynthia plopped down, attacking the tape and ending up with half of it in her hair, before revealing a wooden-carved musical box. 

“Like in _Anastasia_!” She declared, singing:  
_“Dancing bears,_  
_Painted wings,_  
_Things I almost remember,_  
_And a song someone sings,_  
_Once upon a December...”_

She paused. 

“Does this mean I’m really a grand duchess?” 

“Well, you’re a Lennon. Some people think that’s better.”

She giggled. 

“You’re silly.” She ran her finger down the woodwork to the clasp, opening the box and gasping. There was a tiny dancer within, a woman in a pink tutu. 

“There’s usually a button,” Sean told her, reaching out and finding a tiny switch on the bottom, which he slid over. The dancer began to twirl as the box played “The Dance of the Sugar Plum Fairy”.

**The End**

**Author's Note:**

> Title: Once Upon a December from, as mentioned, Anastasia. Also quoted in story.
> 
> Reference: #9 Dream.


End file.
